


end and begin

by ndnickerson



Category: Nancy Drew - Carolyn Keene
Genre: F/M, New Year's Eve, Outdoor Sex, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-28
Updated: 2011-01-28
Packaged: 2017-10-15 04:27:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/157018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ndnickerson/pseuds/ndnickerson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nancy and Ned on a fire escape on New Year's Eve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	end and begin

**Author's Note:**

> prompts: earrings, stranded, fire escape

It's eleven-fifty-one, on the last day of the year. The sidewalks have been ice slicks for days and Nancy's breath is visible. She wears a slinky black dress under a heavy leather jacket, teardrop diamond studs flashing from the lobes of her ears, and Ned is somehow getting away with a pair of ordinary jeans, button-down and sportcoat. The crush of the crowd in the tiny apartment shoved them further and further from the door, through the kitchen that was all cold white ceramic and unsteady towers of stacked dirty glasses, a just-too-twee backsplash of reclaimed sea glass, fingerstained mustard-yellow rotary phone still bolted to the wall. Soft tealights gleam in an open closet crammed with books and a Tiffany stand lamp and every bit of empty shelf space holds a cocktail glass, highball glasses and martini glasses, the jewel-toned pools of liquid shimmering in time with the bass backbeat of the party's soundtrack.

She wants to leave; she wants to find some place where they can be alone, where she can hook her leg around his and angle his hips in to hers and start the new year with his mouth on hers and his cock sheathed snug between her thighs.

The fire escape is one of those dangerous rickety things that doesn't actually reach anywhere near the ground, and she could manage it in something other than fuck-me heels, something other than the melted and refrozen nightmare of ice that glazes the corners of everything. The wind picks up the tips of her hair and fans them over her shoulders, and when her lips part so she can whistle at the sheer _cold_ , the numb ache of it even finds the warmth of her mouth.

They will never make it out before the countdown, before the publicized ball-drops and drunken shouts, the PDA and cascades of glitter and braying cry of party horns. As soon as they snuck out onto the fire escape she had her hands in his back pockets and he had his hands on her ass, and they are tucked into a pocket of shadow, the golden rectangle of light from the window barely touching his shoulder. He has her blocked in, pinned against the wall, and the heat of their joined gazes is the only thing that seems to be keeping her from freezing to death.

"How are we gonna do this?"

Ned lifts his eyebrows. "Oh, so 'I really need some air' meant 'let's fuck in public'?"

"Doesn't it always?"

It never has. She's thought about it, before, though, when he's fucking her in the back of the car and her fingernails are digging into the headrests and the window is cool against the crown of her head. To see the stars through air alone with no glass between, to feel clover under her back, sunlight on her skin. Moonlight. Moonlight and the breath of ice in the air, narrowing into slivers in her lungs before the eddying swirls that sting in the back of her throat fully vanish.

His lips give that little twist up and then he tilts forward and she arches, meeting him halfway. His breath is warm on her cold cheek for that bare half-second before they kiss. His mouth is hot and slick and she slides her hands up out of his pockets, under his shirt, under his undershirt, and she cups the ridge of muscle around the small of his back and he jolts suddenly against her, at the cold of her hands. She gently bites his lip, with a tip of her head, and he tilts the other way and it's like the first time they ever kissed, ever _really_ kissed, she's that intimately _aware_ of every warm breathing male inch of him. He growls a little under his breath and catches the hem of her dress, slides his hands underneath and hooks his thumbs in her panties and pushes them down her thighs.

Their mouths part, audibly. "You've still got a ways to go, cowboy."

"That sounded like a challenge."

They maneuver, carefully, toes describing unintentional arcs, ice cracking to sharp bits beneath their feet, and he puts her on a stair and a shard of orange light touches the folded collar of her jacket. His hands trace warm trails down her smooth legs, as he slides her panties all the way off, tucking them in his pocket for safekeeping.

They had pushed the window nearly-shut behind them, and when eight clumsy-drunk fingers hook under the sill and begin to weakly hoist, Ned calls, "No way out," and a tangle of drunk couples, ridiculous hats already anchored on their heads, move away.

Nancy slowly opens her legs again. "Yeah, that was a few seconds away from something we couldn't play off."

"Scared?" The backs of his fingers are cool against her inner thighs. Everything is cool against her inner thighs. She runs her fingers through his hair and his fingers barely brush the coarse curls between her thighs and she urges him closer, her legs falling open as he leans down and claims her mouth again.

He teases her, with infuriating calm, rubs his knuckles down the slit between her thighs, sucks her lower lip until she's sure her lipstick is a nightmarish smear and then when she's panting he kneels and kisses the inside of her knee, then the other; trails a few loose kisses up one inner thigh, then the other; then her fingers are clawing in his hair and her knees are wide as they can go, feet trembling and soles slipping, scrabbling for purchase on the slick ice, as he drags his tongue all the way up her slit, as he slips it between and tastes her, as he parts her and she angles for him, her ass at the edge of the stair and her heels catching at the edge of another, her mouth falling open. She lets him go and grabs the ice-slick railing, so cold it burns her bare flesh, but he's lashing her clit with his tongue and she aches, aches for him, his fingers, his cock, even the press of his tongue.

When her hips first shiver and circle, he pulls back. "You were saying?"

"You're a bastard."

He grins and grabs the railing, pulling himself to his feet. One last tremor slides through her hips and then she slides down a step, and hooks her fingers in his belt loops, giving him one hard tug.

"You sure?"

"Oh," she smirks, finding his zipper and pulling it down, "it's only fair, dear."

He has had entirely too much practice at this, at keeping his pants up while a girl kneels at his feet. When she strokes her palm up his shaft once, twice, he sways with the movement, hissing. Her hand is cold, but his cock is so warm, and she licks the tip, sucks the head into her mouth, idly wondering if he would try to play it off if someone interrupted. But no one does, and when she pulls back, massaging the base of his cock, the next flick of her tongue over the tip finds the slick salt of his pre-cum.

She tips her face up, her gaze meeting his. "Wall?"

"Wall," he agrees, hoarsely.

She pulls her bra up, hissing when the edges of the cups catch her nipples, and the hard tips show through the thin fabric as Ned slams her into the rough brick wall beside the window again. He grabs her ass and when she slides her legs around his waist and his cock just barely bumps against her, he lets out a low desperate groan and she wraps a hand around the railing, yanking him so that he angles her into the corner. Her dress pools between them and he impatiently flips it back up and she grips a support beam, using the leverage to buck her hips against his. Ned maneuvers into place, slipping into the slick heat between her thighs, and she tenses as he cups her breasts in his hands, using the rail to keep her in place as he fucks her.

She doesn't understand why it is, why the feel of his nails through silk is so much more arousing, but as he scratches the taut, sensitive tips of her breasts gently through the fabric she has to bite her lip hard to keep from crying out. She tilts her head back, bearing back against him, and when he kisses the side of her neck she brings one hand down to cup the back of his neck. Then he kneads her breasts, hard, just before he trails one hand down, fingers pushing the silk hem of her dress up, and the wind burns against her bare flesh but then his thumb is digging between her legs and she tenses, sobbing out her pleasure as he finds her clit.

"Ned, oh fuck, please, please," she whimpers, her voice high and breathy, her hips circling as he plunges into her with hard rough thrusts, his cock slick and hot. With every stroke of his thumb over her clit she trembles, her inner flesh tightening against him, and then he bites her neck and she's flushing with something other than imminent windburn.

"Now! Now, now!"

Nancy doesn't realize she's whimpering with every thrust until the party quiets to a dull roar. "Twelve, eleven, ten!" The voices chorus in drunken shouts, from inside the apartment, from above and below, from the people on the street, from the city.

Then Ned's lips curve up.

"Nine!"

He pulls back and thrusts deep, quick inside her as the voices rise, drawing his cock back out, leaving her tingling, every bit of her drawing in and aching for him, and as they rise again he plunges home again.

"Eight!"

"Oh you son of a bitch," she gasps out when she realizes what he's doing. Then his thumb digs against her clit and she twists, writhing, barely hanging on.

"Seven! Six! Five! Four!"

She has to gather every bit of concentration, every bit of will she has, to draw his face to hers, to kiss him as he fucks her in time with the countdown. She angles her hips and _there, fucking there_ , he circles her clit and she shudders, losing her grip, but his palm is warm against her back and he's so deep inside her, pulsing, as the voices rise again.

"Happy New Year!"

She's twined hard around him, her legs locked around him, fingers digging into his back, and slowly, slowly, the kiss is just the brush of their wet mouths and her hips push slowly back against his as her inner flesh trembles one last time around him.

He has to fight to get his breath back and she finds she's somehow actually sweating under the jacket, her face prickling with the flush of her arousal. "Happy New Year, Nan."

She chuckles, sweeping her hair back out of her face, one hand still clenched against his back. "Yeah. Happy New Year, Ned."


End file.
